


Darling, Everything's on Fire

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Crossover, M/M, Multi, there will be sex and violence, this is meant to take place during the rebellion in Panem, will probably get graphic in later chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-04-23
Updated: 2012-06-19
Packaged: 2017-11-04 04:15:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/389636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>im not your friend im your slave<br/>im an avox john and you are my masters<br/>youre my owner<br/>how hard is that for you to understand</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Looks like I'm back in Crossover land. I promise that I'll have Dave's back-story coming up soon!

The silver tray is cold in my hands.  


I walk around the parlor, straight-faced and focused on listening for my orders, not dropping the large iced drinks that I am serving tonight, not stepping on the feet of the big-wigs that my masters are entertaining tonight.  


My masters. My owners.  


I try to stop thinking. Thinking hasn't been something I've liked doing in a couple of years now.  


Instead, I find myself walking closer and closer to the grand piano in the corner of the parlor, where the soft, lilting background music is coming from. There, my youngest master is sitting, his hands dancing over the keys, his eyes a shocking color of blue that matched the vibrant color of his clothes. They were simple and elegant all at once, the perfect blend of modesty and show. He was one of the few of these people that I couldn't bring myself to hate. He was one of the kind ones.  


I really need to stop thinking.  


I offer him a drink, and he smiles up at me and shakes his head briefly before returning his attention to the piano. I huff a sigh, leaning against it and watching him for a few measures before I have a tall, birdlike woman with blinding yellow hair smacking me on the arm. There's no use in biting back the torrent of insults I want to hurl at her. They wouldn't come out anyway.  


I stand there, wait for her to finish her tirade, serve her a drink, and continue walking around the party for the remainder of the long hour. For the first time in a while, I am reminded that I am miserable.

After the party, I'm sitting on my bed in the servant's quarters, still dressed in my good vest and bow tie, when my youngest master walks in and flops down beside me. His name is John. John Egbert. He tells me I'm his friend. I like to think that's true sometimes.  


For a long time, we just look at each other. He isn't like the other people in the Capitol. He's not gaudy or flamboyant or rude or conceited. His hair is simple, short and midnight black. It's not natural, because I can see the blue tint it takes on in the light, but it's subtle and it suits him. He doesn't dye his body, and the only tattoo I've ever seen on him is this strange, wispy looking symbol that is inked on his collarbone. That's blue, too.  


In fact, a lot of things about him are blue. Blue is just his color, I think. It's fitting. He reminds me of air, of wind, of-  


He's talking. Oops.  


"-- was completely out of line, I'm really really sorry that Giana acted that way, honestly, Dave, I don't understand what got into her!"  


Giana was the yellow lady that hit me, I realize. I'd just been calling her Lemons in my head, honestly. She was sour enough. I pull out my notepad and scribble something, holding it up for John to see.  


_its no problem i should have been paying attention i guess_  


He shakes his head at me and frowns, tells me that he still thought that Giana was being completely unacceptable, blah, blah, blah. I'm not really paying attention at this point. I just hold up the paper again.  


_its fine just calm down dude_  


And then he does something that he has this annoying little habit of doing all the time. He hugs me.  


I stiffen under his arms, trying to lean away and failing miserably. He smells like peppermint and soap and the fabric softener I use on his laundry. His hair tickles the side of my face as I manage to wait out the few seconds it takes for him to deem it appropriate to let me go. I scrawl something out again.  


_you have got to stop doing that you are going to get us both in trouble_  


John laughs and rolls his eyes at me, which pisses me off. Nobody ever laughed at me before I came here unless I damn well meant for them to. "Relax, jeez, Dave, nobody actually cares!" It's my turn to roll my eyes.  


_its bad enough you even talk to me man  
you hoity toity capitol folk arent supposed to adress me unless giving orders remember  
i could get strung up for even socializing with you and you know it_  


I'm really not in the mood for bullshit today, and I think John finally realizes it, because he scoots away. Still, he rubs the back of his head nervously and looks at me, grinning sheepishly. "You're still my friend though! Jade's, too. You don't have to be so uptight about that, we won't let anything happen to you!"  


I bristle at this. It was well-natured, and I know that, but for some strange reason, it just pisses me off more. Today, I can't fit the role of "friend."  


_im not your friend im your slave  
im an avox john and you are my masters  
youre my owner  
how hard is that for you to understand_  


His eyes turn hard, and I know that I've made him angry. I couldn't care less. Right now, I can't stand any more kindness from him. I feel like I owe him for being so nice, and it makes me sick because I shouldn't owe him jack shit.  


I'm the slave. I'm the Avox.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nightmare/Flashback

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this chapter's pretty short, too! I just had this scene floating around in my head and I really wanted to get it out. Hope you like it so far!

_District 3 is one of the richer districts of Panem, but that's never stopped my brother from signing on for tesserae. The lower classes still needed to eat, and when our parents died, he began taking them out by the handful, signing slip after slip. At the age of 14, he already had his name in more than 10 times, while mine was only in once._

_Right when he turned 18, just when we thought he was going to make it out alive, my world shattered._

_"Dirk Strider!"_

_I remember standing directly beside him. I remember that he was wearing his best, but that he didn't actually have anything that wasn't grease-stained or singed at least somewhere from working in the shop. He was one of those child prodigies in the way that he could build robots and cameras and just about anything if you gave him the right scrap metal. He could fight with a sword better than anyone in our district. But he couldn't hold his own, I thought, not against 23 other people desperate to get out of that arena at any cost._

_I was frozen. Alone. He made his way up the steps and stood beside the poor girl they had already chosen, someone I knew by face but not by name, and within moments, they were swept off into the building to wait for the train._

_I remember standing in front of him for the two minutes they allotted me to say goodbye. I don't remember saying anything. His gloved hand ruffled my hair, and then they pulled me out. I don't remember if I cried. I think I might have._

_What I remember most of all was the way the Peacekeepers tried to drag me away from the station. Their rough hands, gripping my shoulders and arms as the train rocketed down the tracks, towards the Capitol where my brother was to be slaughtered for the entertainment of a bunch of fat, pampered pigs. I remember the way I snapped, turning on them and fighting like I was the one that was in the Games, like they were my opponents, like I had to become the victor._

_I remember the way that man's neck cracked under my fingers, and the current that ran through my body when one of them pressed something cold and metallic to my neck, causing my to fall to my knees and scream and convulse. I remember the world going black, not realizing that this was the last time I'd ever see District 3._

I jolt out of my bed with a strangled cry, meaningless garbled words trying to form on my lips. The other servants are used to this by now and hardly even move. They've taken to sleeping with bits of cotton in their ears. I get a bunk to my own. 

As I stared up at the black ceiling, my mind starts to wander. Dirk, my brother, had wound up as the victor from his Games. I wondered what he thought happened to me, what the neighbors told him when he got back to District 3. Would they say that his little brother killed a Peacekeeper and landed himself as an Avox? Maybe they'd just tell him I'd starved. 

Was he alright with having the blood of God knows how many other children on his hands? 

Was he alone?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry! This is so late and it's so short, I'm working on chapter 4 right now, I promise!

It's weeks later now, and I'm stationed in the parlor again as my masters are having yet another party. This time, though, it's different. I'm not the only quiet one here, as everyone has focused their attention on the east wall, staring at the large digital screen. This is a Reaping Party.

I stand through the broadcast of the first two Districts, rolling my eyes as a foolhardy, cocky blonde boy practically leaps at the chance to volunteer. A small, angry, bitter part of myself hopes that he loses. Nobody should be eager for this. 

A familiar pang of sickness washes over me as we watch the Reaping of District 3. My brother is sitting grimly on the stage, next to a small handful of the previous Victors that he will have to join in the Capitol yet again, a mentor for the new dogmeat. Just a few miles away from me, but never close enough. I shake my head slightly, the tiny plates of hors d'oeurves tinkling against each other on the tray that I'm holding. I know that I don't want Dirk to know where I am or what's happened to me. I don't want him to know what I've done. 

Out of the corner of my eye, I can tell that John is looking at me. He's been curled up in one of the large armchairs near the screen, watching the Reaping with a mild expression of distaste - He never has liked the Games, and for some reason, I'm actually happy that he doesn't. Now, though, I just wish that he would look away, focus back on the television, anything but stare me down with his sky bright eyes. You would think that after 3 years, he'd learn to just let me be during the Games. 

The pool of dread in my stomach doesn't leave after the broadcast cut to the next District, or the next, or even the next after that. Every blink brings back an echo of my brother's face. He's 21 now, but the worry lines and stress of the past three years show on his face. I think back to the spry, clean-shaven, witty boy that I knew, and I almost can't recognize the scruffy, bitter man that sat on the Reaping stage. With another pang of sadness, I realize that he probably wouldn't recognize me, either. 

Suddenly, the group of people sitting in front of me begin laughing, and belatedly I realize that the only mentor from District 12 had toppled over the front of their rickety stage. Even John has cracked a small smile. The poor man was Haymitch Abernathy, the drunk. His kids always died in the first couple of days. 

The first volunteer is called, and I think I'm going to be sick. It's a small girl named Primrose, and Effie Trinket is filmed smiling that terrifying pastel grin at her from the stage as she steps forward. The little thing doesn't stand a flying chance in hell. I glance at John, and he's staring at the screen in horror. How can they choose tributes so young? 

However, we don't have more than a few seconds to wallow in our anger before another girl, older this time, is screaming the words "I volunteer!" 

The camera focuses on her, everyone staring in shock. The guests have fallen silent. I don't dare take my eyes off the screen. Her hair is dark, her cheekbones high and pronounced. She looks devastated, but determined. She stares down Effie and the camera crew, the Peacekeepers and Haymitch, who has meandered back onto the stage at this point. She looks angry, fierce, unforgiving. 

She looks like a winner, I think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This really was too short, but I felt like writing more would just drag it out. Chapter 4 should be out soon, though! Thank you so much for all the comments, kudos, and [the gorgeous fanart from deviantArt user sterndecorum!](http://sterndecorum.deviantart.com/art/Darling-Everything-s-on-Fire-299393904)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sub-Chapter: Dirk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a VERY brief glimpse of where Dirk is right now. Jake's sub-chapter is next!

I stomp my way through the Tribute's building angrily. Coming back here every year is going to shoot my nerves to hell, I decide.

My name is Dirk Strider and I won my Games 3 years ago. 

I'm sick to my stomach as I see my kids milling about, trying to formulate their game plan already. They aren't my kids, per se. They're my Tributes, and I'm their mentor. 

Beetee is trying to help me, and I have to give him credit for that, but he seems to be absent as of late, out talking with the people of the Capitol. Perhaps he's attempting to raise sympathy. However, Wiress, poor old girl, she's so far gone right now. The initial trip back into the Capitol always shook her up hard. I decided when we got here to let her rest as she needed. She hasn't complained. 

I sit down on one of the couches and overhear my Tributes talking under their breaths. Its sad, knowing that their only chance of survival is to probably join the Career band. As one of the top four districts, it's even expected of them. They look so serious, but I can tell that they're frightened. My kids are not stupid. They are not weak. But they also are not killers. 

I want to pat them on the backs, tell them it'll be okay, but I know it won't. It was by pure miracle and luck that I won my Games. At least one of my Tributes is going to die next week, if not both. If one of them survives, they'll join me in the Village, another child soaked in the blood of the innocent. It's sick, it's twisted. The Districts only exist to be lead like lambs to slaughter, to be laughed at, toyed with, prodded and poked and ruined. 

I think of what Beetee said to me as we boarded the train. Something strange, something about being able to end it. Setting the scales straight. 

If only we could.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sub-Chapter: Jake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now we see where Jake is, and why he's there. Things are a little vague right now, I know. It'll be cleared up later!

"English!"

My head snaps up from the digital tablet that I've been sketching in. Arena plans, coding, programming, everything is in the palm of my hand. Right now, I'm working on the layout of the forest, diversions, combat plans. Simple but deadly triggers that can be activated by the swipe of a stylus or the touch of a button. 

My name is Jake English, and I am a Gamemaker, I am an artist, I am an architect, and most importantly, I am a double agent. 

When I look up, I see my colleagues trailing out of our conference room. Crane is gesturing for me to follow - It's time to score the Tributes. 

I sigh in distaste as I settle into my chair, again turning my attention to my tablet. My specialty as a Gamemaker is the element of surprise. I was given my position the same year that Seneca Crane rose to his. Some say that the past three years have been the most interesting Games that they've seen in a while. Most say that it was because of Crane. 

I know bloody well that it was because of me. 

Most of the other makers are old, disinterested, only here because of tradition. Seneca and I are some of the youngest Gamemakers on our team, and the difference is strikingly obvious. Our older colleagues are focused on the brutality and overall interest of the Games - Crane and I are absorbed in the deepest machinations that construct our Arena. 

I watch the parade of Tributes boredly. None are catching my eye this year. I write down mostly neutral scores, preferring instead to continue my design. 

It's not until I hear the whistle and hollow thump of an arrow on the wall across from me that I look up and focus. 

Katniss Everdeen, the volunteer from Twelve, is standing in front of us, glaring at each one of us in turn with a fiery intensity. For a moment, I feel my heart stop, my lungs constrict, my throat go dry. For the first time in three years, I am truly interested in a tribute. 

For the first time since I saw Dirk Strider of District Three, I know who I am going to help win. 

For the first time in three years, I know which Rebel I am creating next.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> uhh, sort of nsfw contents here. not really obvious until the last few lines, but i'm going to go ahead and slap a warning on here.

"Jeez, I hope Dave's alright," I mutter to my sister, lounging across my bed. Jade is seated at my feet, clad in one of her favorite spring green dresses, the lace falling gracefully around her shoulders. I myself had opted for a plain black pair of trousers and my standard blue coat. Yet another viewing is over, and we've retired to our floor as the guests trickle out of the parlor. 

She nods, looking vaugely in the direction of the servant's quarters. Her face is identical to mine, even frozen in the same expression of worry. It's hard to believe she's two years older than me - everyone mistakes us for twins. 

"He's seemed darker this Games, like he's thinking really, really hard. It's not his brother this time, is it?" She muses, and I shrug, staring at the ceiling. "He's a lot touchier. Angrier, even." 

It's my turn to nod, because I've noticed that, too. He's become more physical with his anger, rougher in his annoyance, not afraid to shove me away or lock his fingers around my arms when he thinks that I'm taking a joke too far. Yesterday, after the broadcast had finished, he stormed off to the washroom and I had run after him. I had attempted to comfort him and only managed to have him slam me against the wall the second I set my hand on his shoulder- 

I find my mind wandering, force myself to cut off that train of thought. Oh, Christ. I notice my face heating up in a small jolt of panic. 

"John? John, hello, Earth to John, are you alright?" Jade's voice chimes through my consciousness and I realize I've been ignoring her. Whoops. 

"Yeah, yeah, sorry, I'm just kind of tired," I lie, faking a yawn. "Hey, uh, could you let me be for the night?" This was getting awkward, and it was getting awkward fast. Jade eyes me over the rim of her glasses suspiciously. I know I can't keep anything from her for long. 

Of course, that doesn't mean I can't try my damnedest. 

She nods, still watching my face. "Of course I can, John. I should probably head to bed too." Jade stands up, brushing the wrinkles out of her dress before walking out of my room. She stops in the doorway, turns back to face me. "Have a good night, John!" I nod, fabricate another yawn, and she closes my door as I huff a small sigh of relief, falling backwards onto my bed. 

I breathe out heavily through my nose, stare at the ceiling. God, I am such a mess at this point. I laugh quietly at myself, and the sound is bitter as I throw my arm over my face. 

_what are you doing, John? what are you accomplishing, being smitten with the servant-boy?_

There are things that I've never liked to admit to myself. My obvious and inexplicable attraction to Dave is a subject that I was especially sore about, one of my most loathe but unavoidable thoughts. I know that I can't help myself. Dave is witty, hard-working, very dedicated and actually, when you get under the hard shell that he's built himself, he's quite kind. Sometimes, when we're alone and we talk, 

_when I talk and he scrawls_

I can see him shine through, a small smile or a glimmer of happiness in his normally cold eyes. 

Knowing someone also means you know how to get under their skin. It isn't really something I tried to do on purpose. Not to begin with. It started out innocently enough, just teasing him to get a reaction, 

_he is so god damn cute when he's flustered or pissed why is he so fucking gorgeous_

anything aside from the normal clinical gaze he appraised the world with. Anything to make him show that he had thoughts, feelings, a soul. 

Of course, it couldn't stop there. That would be too simple. 

I found myself feeling less amused and more exhilarated when he would grip me by the arms, look at me sternly, make me stop. A good day for me was one where I made him shove me into a wall, yank my arms away from him, dig his nails into my shoulders and stare at me with that predatory gaze, breathe down my neck, give me that look that he got when he was absolutely through with my bullshit, the one that used to make my blood run cold but now set it on fire. 

_god oh god oh god oh fuck look at me please just look at me touch me oh god let me touch you_

Something is just inherently fantastic, completely enthralling, about being the one person that has the influence to mend or break someone. I feel a sick twist in my gut as I acknowledge that there is nearly nothing that I wouldn't give to be the one and only man to completely unravel Dave Strider, to watch such a cold and jaded person melt beneath my hands and become a writhing mess. 

_fuck you're so beautiful i wish you could say my name god i love you i need you please_

_please_

Shame pools in my chest as I groan, the sound choked in the back of my throat with what might have been a sob. I lay still for a few moments before the feeling of my own disgusting release drying on my stomach becomes too horrible to stand, and I quickly stow myself away in the shower, trying to scrub my shame away. 

_what's wrong with me?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so so so so SOOOOO sorry! This chapter turned out so short and so vague, but I hope you guys like it. It took me so long to figure out how to write this scene and even now, I'm not sure that I like the way it's turned out. I'm going to try to be more diligent with the updates, and again, I'm sorry!


End file.
